


Serpentine Curves

by Signe (oxoniensis)



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: F/M, Fake Science, M/M, Peril
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-10-24
Updated: 2005-10-24
Packaged: 2017-12-28 05:28:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/988240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oxoniensis/pseuds/Signe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something is wrong, if only he can pin it down. He can taste the wrongness on the back of his tongue, a bitterness that shouldn't be there. Like lemon in a chocolate cake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Serpentine Curves

**Author's Note:**

  * For [svmadelyn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/svmadelyn/gifts).



> Huge thanks to crumblingwalls for much handholding and fixing up and constant encouragement. And for the commas. Vague spoilers up to mid season 2.

It's while he is traveling through the wormhole that Rodney first notices there is a problem.

He can't _quite_ put a finger on it though. Everything looks normal enough, the swirling bright ocean colors of the wormhole around him as he hurtles through space, back to Atlantis. It is quite pleasant, really, in a hazy, lazy kind of way.

Except—

Something.

Something is wrong, if only he can pin it down. He can taste the wrongness on the back of his tongue, a bitterness that shouldn't be there. Like lemon in a chocolate cake.

Something wrong— But what?

The wormhole? He's traveling through the wormhole and—

He can _see_ the wormhole?

That is—odd. He isn't sure, because somehow he feels less than certain about everything right now, but he rather thinks this is different from usual. And he is fairly sure he's traveled this way often enough before, so he should know what it's meant to feel like by now.

_Yes_.

Of course.

He should be dematerialized, component parts nothing more than imprints on a crystal. He isn't supposed to feel himself traveling through the wormhole, or feel the movement, or notice the colors.

It _is_ fascinating though: he worked with someone once, years ago - a pretty blonde, he seems to recall - who always insisted that a wormhole must follow a cubic of the first normal form, xy 2 \+ ey = ax3 \+ bx2 \+ cx + d. And, admittedly, she was correct, despite her shaky reasoning and clumsy math (that got there in the end but was so inelegant it made him want to pull his hair out), but now he knows it's a sub-case of that cubic, because he is definitely moving along a series of repeating Serpentine curves.

Fascinating. Truly fascinating. He'll have to tell her.

Colonel Carter, that's her name. Really sexy blonde. She likes him, a lot.

It's almost relaxing, despite the wrongness of it all: he can feel that he's moving, but there's no sense of speed, no absurd whooshing sound like they always show on _Wormhole Extreme_ , which drives him mad because _everybody_ knows sound didn't travel through a vacuum, and okay, so a wormhole isn't technically a complete vacuum, but it's close enough, so no sound effects, ever, dear God, no.

He knows he must be moving fast, but not only can he not feel the speed, he doesn't have even a twinge of space sickness. If travel were always this easy, he'd do it all the time.

But, still, it is strange. He ponders that, the strangeness, because he somehow knows that it is important, even though he can't seem to pinpoint the problem or the reason he's aware of himself right now.

He thinks back to before. Before he entered the 'gate, he'd been with others. The Colonel, not the pretty blonde one but the pretty brunet. And Ronon and Teyla. His team.

He wonders about them, wonders if he'll see them if he looks around. Probably not Teyla or Ronon, because they went through first and he can't see anything ahead other than the ever changing loops of blue stretching off into the distance. But the Colonel was right behind him, so maybe if he turns around he'll be able to see him. He just hopes riding a wormhole backwards doesn't have the same effect on him as the time he was forced to ride the Océan with his back to the engine and he threw up a record seven times on the journey. Not even Jeannie was ever sick that many times in one day, and she could be sick on just about anything. Even the back of his bike that one time that he'd rather forget: she didn't even have the decency to turn to the side, and yet he'd gotten the blame for taking her on the bike, when she'd begged and pleaded for a ride, and their parents knew he never could say no to her.

So hopefully no queasiness, if he's careful.

Rodney inches his way around carefully, holding his arms out to balance.

And that was when he realizes that his problem is even odder than he'd assumed. Because, when he raises his arms, he should be able to see them. And when he looks down, he should be able to see himself.

But he doesn't.

No Colonel behind him. And no self. No body. Nothing.

_Nothing_.

He thinks he might hyperventilate, except, hey, no lungs. It feels a bit like those times when his blood sugar hits the bottom limit and he's already eaten his last candy bar and he knows that he's going to pass out in the next few seconds. Except he has no blood, so that rules out the blood sugar problem.

What is he - some sort of disembodied brain? Will he be thrown out the 'gate on the other side and picked up and put in a jar? Or Carson will pull some magic trick with ancient technology and he'll be a brilliant mind kept alive in the body of a dumb person – he's seen the movie. Not that there are any actual dumb people on Atlantis (even Ronon isn't dumb, just silent) but none of them are as smart as him, and that's what counts.

He can't even see anything to check – not much good having a hypothesis if you can't even test it.

Okay, he needs to calm down and think about this carefully. He's in a wormhole, check. He's conscious, check. He can't see his body, check. Those are the facts so far.

Really, when he thinks about it, the lack of a physical body is a plus right now: there's no air to breathe in the wormhole, so he'd be in trouble if he did have his body. So it isn't all bad news, and he feels mildly reassured by that.

Only _mildly_ reassured though, because he has some uncertainties too: he doesn't know where the rest of the team is, and he doesn't know why he's conscious in the wormhole. Rodney doesn't like not knowing, or not understanding. He never used to find himself in that situation until he came to the Pegasus Galaxy; even here, though he sometimes has to admit that he's not entirely sure what object X does, or why field Y is acting the way it is, he's still usually got a working theory within minutes. Seconds sometimes. So he's not good at not knowing, and he's not learned how to cope with not understanding. It's probably something other people learn when they're little, but Rodney never had to. And he's also not sure why he has a feeling that there's something wrong, but he trusts his gut instincts, even when they're as vague as they are now. And his gut instincts are that he should be worried.

So he worries, and an indeterminate time passes, all of which he spends worrying and unable to come up with an answer. And then the wormhole spits him out and that—

That is when he realizes that his problem is even worse that he imagined.

*

It was a routine off-world mission. Of course, that in itself should have had Rodney worried, because when was anything in the Pegasus galaxy routine? But Teyla had assured them that the world was safe, and the indigenous wildlife didn't include killer bees, that the UV level was within safe limits and the people weren't crazy soldiers masquerading as friendly Amish, or Ancients pretending to be prophets or goddesses. So it had been a simple trade run – hop across to another world, swap tools and wool brought over on the Daedelus for fresh food, and back again the same day. Rodney wasn't even needed really, but the Colonel liked to keep the team together, working as a team, and he'd tempted Rodney with a very unsubtle mention of possible Ancient technology, so he'd gone along with it, even if he hadn't been fooled for a second.

And—

He is fairly sure that is what had happened. That it had been routine.

The day had certainly started normally enough. He'd got up and crawled into the shower, which had reluctantly allowed him a two minute wash and no jerk off time. Then he'd headed to the mess where he'd joined Zalenka, Kusanagi and Optican for six mugs of coffee (three of those were Rodney's), and plates of toast with shocking pink jam that turned out to taste shocking pink. Rodney had enjoyed it, the others hadn't, but that wasn't important.

Rodney had been the second one to arrive at the pre-mission briefing, after Dr. Weir naturally – John had come bounding in a few minutes later, glowing with the hint of a newly acquired tan and proclaiming the beauty of the day. Rodney had half expected him to break out into a chorus of 'oh what a beautiful morning', but thankfully Dr. Weir had interrupted before the Colonel could expound further on the joys of breakfast on the balcony overlooking a perfect, blue Atlantean ocean. He really could be irritatingly chirpy at times, especially in the morning.

Sadly, weather systems weren't galaxy wide, and the other side of the wormhole presented them with a miserable planet and a constant grey drizzle. Rodney had felt the wetness trickling down his neck and under his BDU's within minutes, and he'd been as miserable as the planet looked. He could have been sitting on a sunny balcony, drinking coffee, real, good coffee. Okay, true, he wouldn't have been, but he _could_ and that was the point. Instead he was going to end up with hypothermia or foot rot or something equally unpleasant.

Teyla had simply pointed ahead to a section of woodland that looked like every other area in sight, and promised that they'd be at the settlement shortly. Of course, Teyla's idea of 'shortly' and his own weren't exactly in perfect harmony, but it wasn't _too_ long a walk. Really. They'd had worse.

And the villagers genuinely were welcoming, and didn't have any weird customs, at least none that they insisted on the Atlanteans taking part in. And they were hospitable, very hospitable, and even though _somebody_ had to open his big mouth and say they'd not long ago had breakfast, the people of M38-729 - who preferred to be called Rinians rather than 'the people of M38-729' - insisted on them having a second breakfast. And second breakfasts always made a day better in Rodney's book. Especially when they consisted of something remarkably like pancakes and maple syrup in seemingly inexhaustible supply. Eventually though, Rodney had patted his belly and conceded defeat – he couldn't manage even a single mouthful more.

The trading had gone well. The syrup was one of the Rinians' prime trading commodities, and they welcomed the tools that the team had brought as samples, exclaiming over the brightness of stainless steel and nickel plating. All the same, the negotiations had been quite prolonged, and even that had turned out to be a good thing, because lunch was even better than breakfast – a delicious stew that was just like the Irish Stew his mother used to make on Mondays when Rodney was a little boy. There were even chips, perfect orangey squares of fatty, salty goodness that tasted almost as good as if they came in a foil packet. Junk food really was a universal craving.

All good then, and even the walk back to the 'gate hadn't been as bad as the walk out, because the weather had cleared up, and it turned out that the planet wasn't as gloomy looking as it had seemed in the rain. The other three had discussed its potential as an alpha site while Rodney had grumbled about the lack of the promised Ancient technology.

*

So how has all this strangeness come about? Why has he come out of the 'gate to find himself already in the 'gate room? There he is, on the floor, lying still and very quiet, which is not good, oh shit, not good at all.

He walks, drifts over to his body (and does that ever sound weird, calling _himself_ 'his body'?) and thinks maybe if he just merges. Maybe that's all it needs and he'll be sitting up and seeing his own body around him, not on the floor below him.

Even though Rodney-on-the-floor is quiet, the rest of the 'gate room is making up for it.

"Medical team to the 'gate room," Weir calls out, even as the Colonel bends over him and starts shaking him.

"Don't you die, dammit," and that's when Rodney really starts to understand the meaning of panic. Because all this time, yes, he's been worrying, but not too much. It seemed like something had gone wrong, but when doesn't it? He's survived a lot of things going wrong, so one more— It just didn't seem that big a deal. But the haziness and uncertainty he had initially has faded, and he's learning all too clearly that his gut feeling was a severe underestimate.

But he needs to see what's happening, and the Colonel is in the way, and Rodney is screaming at him for answers and he's not listening. No one is. No one is taking the slightest scrap of notice of him, and even though he screams even louder, they're still ignoring him.

Not just ignoring him. Because no one could possibly ignore the decibels that he's just pumped out, even over the questioning and calling. They can't hear him. They can't see him.

He reaches out to tap the Colonel on the shoulder, and his hand slips through.

They can't even feel him.

He moves around the Colonel, and feels sick to the stomach he apparently doesn't have. Because he's lying in a pool of blood. A _lake_. There's a lot of blood, a lot, and none of it is where it should be, feeding his brain and other parts he's fond of with oxygen.

Merging. He needs to concentrate on that, even though the idea of merging doesn't seem so appealing when he sees himself lying there looking revoltingly pale. The angle he's lying at isn't flattering: it makes his neck look thick, and his hair is almost as messy as the Colonel's and he's lying in a lake of blood and this is all so very, very bad.

The Colonel is tilting his head back, feeling for a pulse, and Rodney doesn't want to know the answer because he doesn't think it's going to be positive.

Concentrate.

Merging. He needs to merge.

Rodney drops to the floor, catching the edge of Major Lorne's boot as he does so, but it doesn't slow him down, and the Major doesn't react. Rodney does a kind of shuffle sideways, into his body, except he slides too far, and when he tries to push himself in the other direction, he goes too far the other way, and he realizes that nothing as simple as this is going to work.

*

It had taken them less than half an hour to get back to the 'gate from the settlement. A couple of the kids who had been playing outside the village head's house had tagged along for a while, seemingly fascinated by their visitors, until Rodney had snapped and shouted at them and Teyla had glared at him and then sent them back with a few quiet words and something slipped into their hands that had them smiling happily. Little frauds, pretending to cry over nothing.

The only unusual thing about the whole mission was how ordinary it had been. Nice and ordinary and easy, with the promise of a pleasantly short briefing and hopefully a longer, hotter shower to follow than the one he'd managed this morning.

Sheppard had dialed the 'gate and sent their code and then— Then Rodney thinks things might have become a little less ordinary and a little more normal. Because he remembers a bang now, just as they were going through the event horizon. It could have been a gunshot, or a rock falling, or any other loud noise. But that's it, that's all he remembers. He doesn't remember being hit, or feeling pain, or anything other than a sudden awareness of traveling through the wormhole and that vague feeling of something being wrong creeping up on him.

*

He needs to get up, because lying on his back next to his own body, while a bunch of marines do _things_ to it, just isn't good, especially when one of them is standing with one large, booted foot right inside Rodney's chest. Or where Rodney thinks his chest would be if he could see it properly. He can almost see himself now, a pale faint outline of a body. He can see when he moves a hand, see the movement as much as anything, and he feels alive, feels solid enough. If he just closes his eyes, there's nothing about the way he feels to tell him that anything is abnormal.

He can't keep his eyes closed though. He needs to know what's happening. Needs Carson here right now, and where is he, tying his shoelaces or doing his hair? He should be here by now, should be saving Rodney's life.

Instead, he has marines.

"Looks like a bullet's gone right through his chest."

"He doesn't seem to be breathing."

"That's because he's not," Sheppard says tersely.

"Stop blathering and do something!" Rodney shouts.

Maybe the Colonel does hear him, or catch an echo of his demand, because he's ordering Lorne to apply pressure to the wound and bending over and tilting Rodney's head back and breathing into him. And Rodney can feel the ghost of hands touching him, not much, almost like a memory rather than a real touch, but as John breaths into his body, Rodney inhales, and as John pounds on his chest, fast, one, two, three - far faster than they show on the TV because of course that's another of those things they always get wrong - one, two, three, breath, Rodney feels the pressure on his sternum. And he hearsfeels the cracking sound as the Colonel breaks one of his ribs, but Rodney's pleased with that because it means Sheppard's doing it right and Rodney needs him to do it right, needs him to get that body breathing because it's the only body Rodney's got and it's not the best body in the world, not as good as the Colonel's, and he could stand to lose a few pounds, but it's his body and he's fond of it.

Just not attached to it in the way he'd like.

And standing, floating around doing nothing isn't working for Rodney. He's got an itch in his nonexistent fingers, he needs to be doing something.

Oh, thank God. Beckett is here, at last, and thrusting the Major out of the way unceremoniously. Lorne falls back to the side of the room – Rodney can see him questioning Ronon and Teyla; he can't hear what they're saying this far away, but they're shaking their heads and shrugging their shoulders. They wouldn't know anything, of course they wouldn't, because there was no warning that the mission was going to end like this. No warning at all.

"It's okay, John, we'll take over from here," Beckett says quietly as the Colonel keeps pumping away, the heels of his hands battering Rodney's chest.

Rodney thinks he hears a muttered "it's not okay" but he can't be sure, not now there are even more people in the 'gate room and even more murmuring and commotion. Elizabeth has moved over to Teyla and Ronon: she looks as though she's mourning already, and while part of Rodney is pleased - he's missed, they do care about him - part of him wants to shake everyone and tell them that he's still here, don't give up. Fuck, don't give up. He's never given up on them, no matter what. Even when he drowned in a parallel universe, he didn't give up on them.

He's not giving up, even though he can't see any movement in the body that's being lifted onto a gurney. He's not giving up, not while he's still got a functioning brain. He's going to work out what's gone wrong, and he's going to put it right.

At least he seems to be able to concentrate more now. If he can just check the data on the last wormhole, he might be able to—and that's it, his mind is whirring away like normal, and he's leaning over an open laptop, fingers flying over the keys and—through the keys. He thumps the screen with sheer frustration because he has to see this data, he's the only one here who he trusts to figure this out. And, and—

"Did you see that?" Yamato says.

The other marine looks up. "What?" he asks.

"That laptop just— Never mind, must have been my imagination."

"That laptop just what?"

"I thought it moved, oddly, sort of a jerk."

"You're seeing things, man."

"Yeah." Yamato shrugs and walks away.

It did move.

"It did move," Rodney shouts at them. But they're not the ones he needs, so he just concentrates on trying to move it again.

His fingers simply slide through it. As does his hand and arm when he tries punching it. But he's done it once, so he must be able to do it again. He doesn't believe in flukes: they happen to lesser scientists, and no matter what names Rodney's been called over the years, and he's been called some real doozies, no one has ever called him a lesser scientist. So there has to be a reason why he managed to affect it that one time, and he's going to work it out.

*

He doesn't mean to look across at himself, because right now he needs to trust the doctor - even if medicine is a half-baked science - while Rodney gets the important jobs done. But he can't help his eyes following the line of medics as they file out of the room, urgency in the speed of their step. He's not going to be able to keep track of how his body is fairing, not once it's out of sight, but he bites down the apprehension and turns away. Back to the far side of the room, where the Colonel's voice is an almost welcome distraction: it's not his usual sleepy drawl, it's a pained, cut-off exclamation and Rodney can imagine the anxiety in his eyes behind the dark glasses that he has no reason to be wearing. They're all together now, the Colonel and Major Lorne, Elizabeth and Ronon and Teyla, huddled together and talking in low voices.

Priorities. Rodney needs to sort his priorities, make a plan.

His priorities are: (1) finding out everything the Colonel knows about what happened just before they left M38-729, (2) working out what exactly has happened to him and why he's conscious outside his body, (3), and this is the one he doesn't like because he's going to have to delegate – and he still believes that delegating is a dirty word – keeping his body alive long enough to get back into it and (4) getting himself back into his body, which is going to involve a (4a) which is finding a way of communicating with someone in Atlantis so that he has help with the physical work.

He'll start with number one.

The first task is quick and easy. He's across the room in a matter of seconds, slipping into the gap in the circle left by the Major who is marching behind the medical team as they head down the corridor to the med lab. Rodney stands in his usual place beside Colonel Sheppard, and for a moment everything seems like it normally does after a mission. Until he opens his mouth to speak and then closes it without attempting a word.

"Was there any sign at all during negotiations that the people were hiding anything?" Elizabeth asks.

"No, Dr. Weir. They were welcoming, and were very glad to trade with us. I cannot believe that this had anything to do with the Rinians." Teyla is softly emphatic.

"Colonel Sheppard, Ronon, anything?"

Ronon shrugs noncommittally. It's his version of 'nothing he can think of but he'll let Dr. Weir know if he does recall anything'. Rodney sometimes wishes everyone were as succinct as Ronon. Especially at briefings. It gives Rodney so much more time to make his points.

The Colonel is standing ramrod straight, as though he's on parade. Rodney's never seen him this tense before, not visibly tense, so that anyone can see it. If he didn't already know that the situation was bad, this would be the clue that would give it away. This is Sheppard's way of dealing: he doesn't panic like normal people, doesn't talk too much like Rodney knows he does but can't help, he just goes quiet and determined and very military.

"Apart from McKay, it was a quiet trip, easiest we've had in ages." His look said 'you know what Rodney's like' and Rodney would have resented that if he hadn't remembered deliberately trying to find fault with the trip, and interrupting every time the Colonel started speaking. "I heard a shot, and just gave Rodney an extra shove, though he was already almost through the event horizon, and dove through myself. I didn't realize he'd been hit until we got to this end. Didn't seem like a good idea to hang around to find out who was shooting at us, especially with Ronon and Teyla already through the 'gate."

*

So he was definitely shot, but they've been shot at before, and some of them have gone through the wormhole with bullet wounds, but they've never ended up in the mess Rodney's in. So, what was different, what made him split like this, how—

And he's there, he's got it. Not bad going, if he says so himself. Just a few minutes, and that's with a brain that isn't even visible. If he'd been fully himself, he'd have solved it in seconds. Even more reason to make sure he lives: Atlantis would fall apart without him.

Ancient technology is pretty damn impressive, but it's not perfect, and Sheppard said that Rodney was already part way through the event horizon when he heard the gun shot. The bullet would have arrived a few microseconds later, so the imprint of part of Rodney, a live, healthy part, was already stored in the crystals. Then the remainder of him, which must have been injured fatally, went through and the discrepancy between the first (live) part of the imprint and the second (probably dead) half meant that crystal wouldn't be able to reconcile it. So it split him, and when he was reintegrated at the far event horizon, he came through as his body, and as this—whatever this is. It all makes perfect sense, though he'll need to reconfigure the interface with the 'gate to make sure that if this ever happens again they can pick it up in the feedback signals.

Rodney doesn't like thinking about the idea of being fatally shot, because he's only human - all accomplishments to the contrary - but this is good news. All he needs to do is go back through the wormhole and he'll be reintegrated when he comes out the other end.

Both of him.

The barely visible, even to himself part, and the possibly dead part that's not even anywhere near the 'gate room anymore.

Both need to go through the 'gate.

Yes, that's all he needs to save his life and potentially the life of the city and everyone in it, and all the humans in this galaxy and on earth, and oh shit, there's an awful lot riding on him living. Of course, there always is, always has been, but right now it's entirely possible that he is the sole person capable of saving earth from being a happy munching ground for the Wraith. And while the idea doesn't exactly fill him with delight, because Wraith feeding habits are never the subject of delightful thoughts, it does fill him with even more determination. Not that he hadn't want to sort the problem out anyway, because, hey, his life, fond of it and all that, but yeah, fate of the world is quite an incentive for fast work.

He needs to jump straight to (4a), communication, and as fast as he can. He moved that laptop, so that means that he can interact with solid objects. There's clearly no molecular component to his structure, so he must be pure energy. So if he can channel that— He was frustrated before, so emotions—emotions might be the key. Typical, just typical for it to be something like that. Emotions, of all the insubstantial, impractical things. He's way outside the realms of 'normal' science, but then, when it comes down to it, he always has been. And if he can take traveling to another galaxy in seconds, meeting the 10,000 year old version of his expedition leader, and virtually indestructible life-sucking vampire aliens in his stride, then why should he have any problem with this? In fact, he's sure that if he had time to sit down and think about it, there'd be a rational reason for it.

There's always a rational reason for everything.

Well, except medicine and Colonel Sheppard's hair.

But he doesn't have time for such luxuries, he just needs to get on with it and make it work, whatever the reasoning behind it. There, desperation, that's a good emotion, that'll do it.

Something small to start with.

There's a mug of coffee on one of the command consoles - and Rodney is going to tear a strip off whoever left it there once he's back to normal: he's lost track of the number of times he's told everyone that Ancient (in both senses of the word) equipment and hot beverages don't go together – so setting aside the cruelty of not being able to drink it, it seems like a good place to start. Not with the mug, just the coffee inside.

He puts his finger inside, ignoring the strangeness of seeing his almost transparent finger disappearing into the coffee, and swirls it around. He expects to see a whirlpool immediately, but there's nothing. Nothing at all, not even the faintest trace of movement.

He moves along the console, touching, pushing, hitting papers that are lying around. He blows on them, lifts both arms and tries to sweep them onto the floor, kicks the console base.

Still nothing.

He can feel his desperation mutating into angry frustration – he's never been one to enjoy prolonged trials, not when he can't see progress. It's a good thing he's right 99.93% of the time – he's done the numbers - and doesn't normally have to waste his time on failed experiments.

But this— He's sure he's right, he has to be. He's some form of energy, must be, because he's thinking. I think, therefore I am. Exactly. Couldn't have put it better himself. So, somehow, he must be able to transform that energy into movement.

He sits down a moment on the steps. Head in hands he ponders the absurdity that he has an almost invisible (fully invisible to anyone else) body, but he still has a splitting headache. Figures. Just his luck. And he can't even gulp an Advil or four.

He hasn't noticed how quiet the 'gate room has become until he hears a familiar, complaining voice.

His luck has just got worse.

Kavanagh, in full flow, storming into the 'gate room behind Dr. Weir.

"But that's absurd. Zelenka, _Dr._ " (and wow, how much sarcasm could he fit in that one little word?) "Zelenka can barely even speak English, and is just as likely to defy protocol as McKay was."

Rodney bristles at the past tense in conjunction with his name.

"Dr. Kavanagh, might I remind you that Dr. McKay isn't dead yet, and hopefully won't die." Dr. Weir's voice is strained. "But if we do ever have to replace him as Chief Scientific Officer for the mission, I can assure you that the best person for the job will be—"

"You mean, you'll give the job to someone who'll suck up to you, rather than the best scientist."

"As I was saying, the best person for the job will be chosen." A careful pause, long enough to make the point, not so long that it gives Kavanagh an opening to interrupt. "And that will not be you."

Rodney wonders how long this conversation has been going on – he has the distinct feeling that Elizabeth is at snapping point. But at least it's given him an update on his own condition. He's not dead, yet.

"As though Dr. McKay was ever the best person for the job! He's an idiot, who just got lucky with a few crackpot theories, and all of a sudden everyone's kissing his flabby ass."

Flabby. _Flabby_. It's muscle, he'll have that skinny little bastard know. Hard-earned muscle, and he'd know what muscle is if he ever dared to venture off-world. Not that the weasely little coward ever would if he could help it.

"That's enough! If you don't want to be investigating the city's sewage system for the rest of your stay here, I strongly suggest that you go back to your lab and do something useful."

Rodney likes the sewage system idea. He stores it for future reference: no matter what Kavanagh does right now, when the next quiet spell comes to Atlantis, that's what he's going to be examining. Up close and personally. Rodney just hopes the Ancients designed any tunnels so that they're large enough for a pony-tailed runt like Kavanagh to crawl through. But not so large that he can stand upright in them.

Kavanagh stomps off, and Dr. Weir has a quiet word with the two 'gate room techs on duty. They ask about Rodney, which he finds rather touching, especially as he can't even recall their names. After Grodin, he's not been so quick to remember names. Dr. Weir just gives them the usual kind of update in such situations: he's comfortable, Dr. Beckett is doing everything he can, we'll know more in the morning, blah, blah, blah. She means well, and she shows the right amount of concern balanced with confidence, but it's always the same when someone is dying, and it doesn't encourage Rodney.

This is one of those occasions when Rodney wishes time wasn't linear. Because it's marching on, and his body is still in the med lab and he's no closer to communicating with anyone.

He needs to move out of the 'gate room, find someone who'll react better than two wet-behind-the-ears techs if— _when_ he manages to move something.

He sees the time in the corner of a monitor as he moves out the room – it's a shock. It's not as though he's been having fun, so to learn it's so late— He's clearly not as alert as he needs to be, has to stop letting himself be distracted from the task at hand.

Once he's out of the 'gate room, the late hour is more obvious. The lighting has the subdued, softened look that Atlantis provides every evening, the city hinting that it's time for all good Atlanteans to go to bed. The corridors are quiet, so hitching a ride when someone else uses a transporter isn't going to work. Which means the labs are going to be a long walk. Not worth it – he doesn't know if he'll get tired in the form he's in, but he just doesn't feel like the walk. So that means quarters: it's not that late, so there's sure to be someone awake.

And as he thinks that, there are voices around the corner, one Teyla's clear articulation, the other a rumble that has to be Ronon.

"I do not believe we missed anything, do you?"

"No."

"I only wish there were something we could do for Dr. McKay. I do not feel like sleep, and I do not think Dr. Beckett will take kindly to our visiting again."

Rodney is touched. He hadn't thought of the perks of being invisible, and if he had, eavesdropping on his colleagues wouldn't have struck him as a good thing because he really couldn't imagine them saying much that he'd want to hear. So Teyla's concern is a pleasant surprise.

Ronon shrugs and raises his eyebrows at Teyla.

"Nor I," he says, in an odd tone.

He's leaning over Teyla as she rests against the wall, and Rodney feels a spike of alarm. True, he's gotten used to Ronon, they all have, but he's still not tried and tested, he's not really one of them, and who knows what the hell the Wraith might have done to him over the years. How they might have warped him. What he might be capable of. And Teyla doesn't look as serene as she normally does, and much as Rodney would like to think that's concern for his well-being, he can't help worrying that it's more Ronon's looming that's causing the lack of serenity.

But he can't do a thing.

He can, dammit. This is Teyla, and he's not going to let any harm come to her, not when she saved his life and didn't even tell anyone about the ejected cartridge that one time he'd been trying to face down the Wraith. This is not someone he's going to let be hurt.

He rushes them, just as Ronon leans in. Catches the edge of Ronon's jacket and it flaps in the motion, but Ronon doesn't notice and neither does Teyla because they're way too engrossed in each other's tonsils.

Oh.

He hadn't seen _that_ one coming.

So much for defending her.

At least he's made progress on his own front. He definitely moved Ronon's jacket, and even if he was really aiming to punch him in the side and knock him down, well, progress is progress is progress, however small.

But they're not going to notice him, even if he manages to do something more impressive. The way Teyla is moaning and the places Ronon's hands are roaming, they need to get themselves a bedroom, and quickly. And he's not going to stay around for that, no, thank you very much.

He heads off at a trot, around a couple more corners, until he finds himself outside a familiar door.

Sheppard's room. With a closed door.

This one step forward, two steps backwards lark isn't endearing itself to Rodney, not at all. He could really do with a lucky break. Somehow he doesn't think moving a laptop or a jacket is preparation for opening a door.

He can hear the Colonel inside too, just faintly, moving around and talking to someone. So it's not even as though he's going to be walking around the corner any moment and just happen to open the door at exactly the right time for Rodney.

Rodney could go somewhere else, of course. The science team's quarters are all grouped together not too far from here, and logic says he should try there first. But— Somehow, no logic to it, he feels that it's Sheppard he needs to get to understand what's happening.

He hits his head softly against the door in frustration.

And almost falls over.

He's an idiot. A certifiable idiot who should be ashamed of himself.

He straightens up, and walks through the door, as though it weren't there. It's a strange sensation, but it's only momentary, and then he's through, in Sheppard's room.

There's a broken glass on the floor, and a pool of water. There's other stuff that looks out of place too, almost as though they've been thrown around. McKay's never seen the room anything but military-tidy before.

"What's the latest?" Sheppard is asking. He's wearing his earpiece, and pacing around the room as though he wants to get out but can't.

McKay can't hear the reply but he can guess that it's Dr. Beckett, and he can guess the words too – a brief version of the update Dr. Weir just gave but with more 'ayes' and less reassurance judging by Sheppard's response.

"Let me know—" His voice trails off, and after a few seconds he pulls off his earpiece and flings it on his bedside table by the picture of his father.

The glass wasn't dropped, Rodney thinks incongruously as Sheppard sits down on the side of his bed. And just slumps. Hopelessly. Head in hands, and he's—

Oh God, he's crying.

Not sobbing, not audible at all, but his shoulders are shaking faintly, and looking closely, Rodney can see tears through Sheppard's fingers, staining his cheeks.

Of all the things Rodney had expected, all the reactions from his colleagues, though he likes to think that some of them at least are friends, this— This just wasn't one of them.

And Rodney thought he felt helpless before, thought seeing his body _dying_ on the floor of an abandoned city in a galaxy far from home was the worst thing that could happen to him today.

But this— This is new levels of helplessness and wrongness and— And hurt.

It hurts, dammit, hurts him to see Sheppard like this.

He rests a hand on Sheppard's shoulder, awkwardly, willing him to feel it, to feel that Rodney's still alive and _here_.

And—

Sheppard looks up.

Doesn't say anything, just looks around, then shakes his head disbelievingly.

He must have felt it, felt something at least.

Rodney feels like cheering, because this is going to work, and they're both going to be laughing about this tomorrow. Or maybe not tomorrow, or for a few days yet, not actually laughing, but they will someday, once Rodney's whole and they can look back on it as one of those wacky things that happen in the Pegasus galaxy. _Hey Colonel, remember the time you thought I was dying and you were all broke up about it and my not-ghost haunted your room and spooked you?_

And then Rodney's jumping, because the lights flicker, and the lights in Atlantis never flicker, not since they've had the ZPM connected.

Sheppard's tilting his head appraisingly, and Rodney has to keep the momentum going, because he's sure the lights were his doing. It had to be him, because Simpson and Ncube overhauled the environmental controls only last week, and they were all working perfectly because Rodney made sure he double-checked everything the other two did.

He looks around the room, deciding what he'll try to move.

Something that uses power and will respond to energy, and though normally he'd chide himself for being so slow at realizing that was his best bet, he's not going to waste time on recriminations right now.

He is going to be distracted though, because Sheppard's standing up and—and he's stripping for bed. Layers of uniform coming off as Rodney watches, and hell, yes, he's watching, because he has some morals, but he's not that good a man. Not when he's getting a show like this. A display he'd pay for, and that's a thought he's going to make sure Sheppard never knows about.

Strips down to his boxers, and McKay might be oblivious at times (might be – he's not convinced that he's that bad, but everyone tells him he is, and there are a few things that other people seem to get right more than he does) but if those aren't the gayest boxers he's ever seen, he'll eat his own!

Rainbow swirl, tie-dye boxers.

Rodney chuckles.

That's it, there's no two ways about it. Once he has a working body back again, _fully_ functioning, he's going to try for some international fraternization with Colonel John Sheppard.

But now, the computer.

Sheppard's computer is on his desk on the other side of the room, and it's turned on. So all Rodney has to do is—hit every key, try to turn the monitor on and off and fail, and finally, punch the monitor and watch his hand go through it - which might be interesting under any other circumstances, but right now, not interesting, not pleasing, and not any fucking use.

He slumps over the desk – defeat isn't in his vocabulary, but right now he's about to expand his vocabulary to include it. Did he think he was moving one step forward and two back? That must have been the optimist in him, to think he was making that much progress. He's going to die, going to watch his body die, and he's not going to be able to do a thing about it.

The lamp on the desk dims a bit, almost as though the city is sympathetic to him for once. And—

Rodney smiles.

Sheppard might be the city's favorite, but Atlantis seems to know Rodney is here. So it's Ancient technology he needs to work on, and Sheppard, well, Sheppard's a not-so-secret pack rat and he's sure to have some gizmo lying around, probably purloined from the lab when Rodney had his back turned. It's the magpie instinct in him, and while normally Rodney would berate him for it, the second he sees the familiar toy he could kiss Sheppard with joy.

It's just the kind of thing Rodney would expect Sheppard to steal: a combination heart-rate monitor, stop-clock and alarm (and those are just the functions they've got working so far), that flashes different colored lights and beeps merry little tunes. Rodney had been most intrigued by the properties that caused it to adhere to the skin firmly when in use and blend in so as to be almost invisible, but remove easily without any tackiness. Sheppard, of course, had been most interested in the flashing lights.

Rodney lays his hand on it and concentrates. He wants the timer function because that has the brightest light, so he thinks about five seconds and counting down. A row of little lights comes on, and it's working. It's working. And Sheppard isn't even looking this way, until—

One beep of the alarm, and it's the sweetest sound Rodney has ever heard. Sheppard's getting up off the bed and heading toward the desk, and it's a go.

A series of flashes, di-di-di-dah-dah-dah-di-di-dit, and Sheppard goes pale. He's looking at the gizmo in bemusement, though Rodney knows for a fact that Sheppard knows Morse code, that it's still taught to pilots, so Sheppard understands a procedural code like SOS when he sees one. Now to explain why a piece of Ancient technology is suddenly emitting Morse code. He thinks his name in a series of dots and dashes, and the gizmo responds, flashing out his name.

"Rodney?" Sheppard's tone is lazy and casual, but there's a flash behind his eyes that says he's not going to be fooled if this is a trick.

_Yes_ , Rodney thinks, and _yes_ the gizmo flashes. He outlines the situation as briefly as he can, and watches Sheppard taking it all in.

"So, you're here, and your body's in the infirmary. And you need to get back in it by going through the 'gate? Is that about it?

Rodney flashes an affirmative.

"And how exactly do I know this is you, rather than a non-corporeal alien wanting access to our stargate?"

Good point. McKay casts around for something to say that will convince Sheppard.

_Harry K Dalling_ he flashes. It's not a good memory, but it makes the point.

Sheppard doesn't reply, just picks up his earpiece and calls for Beckett.

"How's the patient?" he asks impatiently, then mouths the response for Rodney's benefit.

_"He's the same as the last time you asked, lad. He's unconscious, and so should you be, asleep."_

"So he's stable? He's not going to die anytime soon?"

_"He's still critical, and technically he was dead for a minute or so when he came through the 'gate – his hemoglobin is seven, and his INR is higher than I'd like—"_ John mouths, then interrupts.

"Doc, layman's terms, please."

_"Right, sorry. He's lost a lot of blood, and I'm concerned that his blood isn't clotting as quickly as it should, but he's not in any immediate risk."_

"So he could be moved safely?"

_"I'd strongly advise against moving him right now. And why on God's green earth would you want to?"_

"To cut a long story short, to save his life."

_"You're gonna have to give me something more than that."_

So Sheppard explains, and the conversation gets faster and faster and he forgets to let Rodney know the responses at the other end, and Rodney hates not being able to control what's happening to him, but eventually he gets a thumbs up, Sheppard turning around slowly as he gives the signal because he doesn't know where to look to face Rodney.

He turns the earpiece off. "It's a go," he says.

*

"Dr. Weir, you have a go," he heard General O'Neill say, and he wasn't sure whether to be excited or brown his pants. There was no backing down now.

He'd lied the first time he saw a working stargate all those years ago, acted casual as though it was no big deal. It _was_ a big deal, was the most exciting thing he'd ever seen. But it was also the most frightening, and seeing it for the first time when something had gone wrong, when Teal'c had gotten trapped inside, well, that just impressed the enormity of it all even more on him.

And that day, hearing the words that sent them off to Atlantis, more than likely on a one-way ticket— Well, that was something altogether new. Not just a new world to explore, but a whole new galaxy, and if he'd known what it contained— Who was he kidding, he'd have gone through the 'gate regardless. He would never have been able to turn down an opportunity to learn so much.

*

He has the same feeling now that he did the first time he saw the stargate, the first time he went through it. A mingled surge of determination and outright terror. If this doesn't work. No, not going down that road.

It has to work.

It will work. His theory is, well, not exactly sound, but certainly serviceable. Good enough.

John's getting dressed, pulling on his uniform as he talks to Elizabeth and Major Lorne, and about half the city by the sound of it.

_Yes, yes, yes_ Rodney flashes on the gizmo and the room lights flash in unison. Sheppard takes a minute to grin at him as he buckles his belt.

"Getting a bit excited, hey, McKay?" he asks.

More than you can guess, Rodney thinks, but carefully doesn't send that message.

Sheppard's ready now, so he comes around and picks up the gizmo. He holds it in his hand a moment, clearly pondering, then goes to his desk drawer, grabs some tape, and tapes it to an outer pocket of his BDU's.

"Don't want it to touch me and respond to me instead of you," he says.

Rodney's never thought Sheppard's knuckles brushed the floor when he walked. But the way he's dealing with this, the way Rodney has only had to give him a fraction of the story and he's pieced together the details for himself, this is something else. This is hot. This is Sheppard helping to save Rodney's life using his brains, not his P90. And he doesn't even seem to notice how smart he is.

The 'gate room is teaming when they get there - McKay doesn't for one moment think this number of people is necessary, but clearly the Atlantis grapevine has been active over the last few minutes - but the chatter dies down when Sheppard walks in. Everyone looks at him, then around him, left and right, as though they'll be able to see where Rodney is if they stare long enough.

"Okay," Sheppard starts, as Elizabeth nods at him to take charge. "I've not had time to brief anyone thoroughly, but this is going to be a quick mission, through the 'gate and back again. We're taking a puddle jumper and a medical team, but we're not planning on staying on the other side for long enough to do anything other than turn around, redial and come back again. I want another medical team waiting to take Dr. McKay straight back to the infirmary as soon as we return. Any questions?" He doesn't wait for an answer. "Good. Let's go folks."

Sheppard bounds up the stairs towards the jumper bay. Beckett meets them there, corporeal-Rodney on a stretcher, hooked up to an IV and assorted machinery. He looks pale and somehow not present. Rodney wonders what would have happened if this Rodney had woken up, if there is anything of him left inside or if the body really is just the shell it appears.

"Rodney, are you with us," Sheppard says sharply from inside Puddle Jumper One, as though he can sense Rodney's morbid thoughts. Rodney hurries up, and flashes out a _yes_ on the gizmo.

And then there's no time to think, because Sheppard's dialing the coordinates for M4X-995, the quietest world they've come across yet, the wormhole is established, the puddle jumper is dropping down into the 'gate room, and they're heading into the wormhole.

Going through.

Now.

*

Afterwards, Rodney is stuck in the infirmary for far too long. True, he died, and once he was back in his body and finally woke up, he almost wished he hadn't woken because the pain— Oh, the pain was excruciating. And of course Beckett was stingy with the painkillers, as though he didn't believe Rodney when he pointed out that people have died from pain alone, and that if he died now after going through so much it would all be on Beckett's conscience. Damn Scot didn't have a conscience though, because he'd just laughed and said that Rodney was clearly getting better.

Sheppard visited him a lot when he was unconscious, according to the nurses, but his visits tailed off once Rodney was up and alert again. He came once or twice, but there was an awkwardness that Rodney wasn't used to with him.

So as soon as Rodney manages to escape (on the promise that he won't even think of going near a lab for a couple of days at least), he sets about tracking down the Colonel. It takes him a while, until nighttime in fact, as Sheppard doesn't turn up to dinner in the mess, and he doesn't show up in any of his usual haunts, despite Rodney confirming that he certainly is in Atlantis.

But even Sheppard has to sleep eventually, so Rodney makes himself comfortable in an alcove across the hall from Sheppard's room and sits and waits.

He must have made himself too comfortable, because the next thing he knows is Sheppard shaking him gently, and Rodney's peering up blearily at him.

"Looking for me?" Sheppard asks.

Rodney's not sure he wants to admit that, not just yet. But he's still half asleep, and he's not managed to get fully caffeinated, not back up to his normal levels, not in just one afternoon. So instead of coming out with a good excuse as to why he's dozing in a alcove beside a pile of empty power bar wrappers, he just nods and follows Sheppard into his room.

He thinks maybe he should have done this by email. So much less messy, and more thinking time too, plus there's the whole handy function of being able to delete any mistakes that speech doesn't come with. A flaw in the design – would be so handy if words could be deleted. Whole conversations at times.

Sheppard's holding out an opened bottle of Athosian nearly-beer, and Rodney reaches for it gratefully, only to have it pulled back at the last minute.

"Mmm, not sure you should be drinking that."

Rodney doesn't bother to say anything, just glares until Sheppard hands over the bottle. He takes a few swigs while he tries to work out what to say.

"I, um, I just wanted to say—" He peters to a halt. What exactly does he want to say? He's pretty sure _fuck me now_ isn't how he's supposed to start, there are stupid conventions about flirting and the like that rule that out as an opening line, but _thank you_ seems so trite. "Would you have missed me? Okay, I meant to say thank you for saving my life first, but yeah, would you? Honestly?" he adds.

"Well of course I would have missed you Rodney, you're essential to the well being and continued safety of the city. Or so you keep assuring us, in those exact words." Sheppard laughs and takes another swig of beer.

That's it. There are times when Sheppard's flippancy is just too much.

"That's it, is it? That's all you'd miss? My brains?" Rodney is mad now, because he knows that's not true. You don't shed tears because you're going to miss someone's brain. He's crowding Sheppard with each question, punctuating them with prods and wild gestures that send beer splattering across the floor.

Sheppard's looking startled, and backing up under the onslaught, until he catches the back of his legs on his bed and falls backwards. Rodney doesn't fall, not exactly, but he doesn't want to be standing up when Sheppard is horizontal. So he follows him down, landing on his chest with a pfft, dropping the beer and forgetting about it.

And that was a bad idea, because ow, it hurt, and he really needs to remember that he had a bullet hole in him not so long ago, and a broken rib from Sheppard's CPR. He rolls off Sheppard, panting a bit, and clutching his chest.

"Rodney, are you—"

"Yes."

"You don't even know the question."

"Rodney, are you okay? Yes. In pain, but still, yes. Rodney, are you hitting on me? Yes. See, I didn't need to know which question it was to answer it."

"Hitting on you? You think I'd say that?"

"No, I'm sure you'd say something much cooler. But that's just semantics."

"Okay then."

And that's all it takes. Sheppard is bending over him, a look on his face that openly admits just how much he would have missed Rodney. He's being careful, not leaning down too far, remembering better than Rodney the recent injuries.

But his kiss isn't soft or gentle or careful, not in any way. It's Sheppard at his most intense, when he sheds that lazy exterior and shows why he made it to Atlantis on a do or die mission. Taste of beer, but that's only the surface. Underneath it's all Sheppard, hot and determined and looking as horny as Rodney feels.

And all of a sudden, it's like being in the wormhole again, feeling uncertain of anything other than that he is here, he is Rodney and this is Sheppard, John. At last. Except that nothing is wrong this time, absolutely nothing wrong at all. He feels like his brain is powering down, but he doesn't care, not even if he loses a few brain cells on route (he can spare a few for this), because the rest of him is powering up. Ninety-nine percent power and still rising. Seems like it isn't only Atlantis that rolls over and begs for Colonel Ancient-Gene – if John doesn't give him more soon, Rodney is worried that he'll be rolling over and begging for it.

"Fuck me," Rodney says when he surfaces.

John's face goes from zero to yes in milliseconds. If Rodney hadn't already been hard, that would have done it, that raw desire. For him. He's never seen it directed at him before, not this panting at the leash lust mixed with something stronger and better that he's not quite ready to think about yet, but he's already addicted to it, knows he's going to need it like he needs an entire pot of coffee before he can do his best work.

Atlantis must approve, because the lights dim to a warm glow, bright enough to see, but low enough to soften flaws and scars and nearly forty years of life.

But this is Rodney's life, so of course it doesn't stay that good. John's face slows down to no before Rodney has had a chance to do anything else, and he's backing away and talking, which Rodney really doesn't want. One thing Rodney knows for sure is that talking too much before sex leads to no sex. And no sex is just not an option right now.

"So, what exactly did Carson say you were fit for when he discharged you?"

Rodney sighs and sits up. John has that stubborn tilt to his chin that Rodney's come up against before and regretted.

"Oddly, the question of my potential sex life didn't come up in our discussion. But I'm sure if it had he would have recommended it for my well being."

"He would, would he?" John's teasing, and Rodney thinks he might be able to win this after all.

"Yes, but I'd like a little less talk about Dr. Beckett right now. In fact, less talk period."

And John's body is with the program, even if there is still a hint of conflict in his eyes – Rodney's sure he can get rid of that given a minute or two. Or less. Concern is all well and good, but not now. A few layers of clothing later, and there's no distraction possible. He's propped up against the headboard, and John—John's all eager mouth and hands and want. Wanting Rodney as much as Rodney wants him, and it's hard to believe it's possible but for the evidence pressed against his thigh - hard evidence - and the roving hands that are trying to claim every part of Rodney.

Rodney's hungry for this, starving for this, been waiting for this far too long.

Hot skin makes him forget the chill of being nothingness, John's hot mouth is rendering Rodney speechless. Groaning, one of them, both of them. He wants this to last but his cock thinks he's a teenager again and he's going to go off with nothing more than the rub of hairy legs against him if he's not careful.

Promise of more, better, as John slides down his body, whisper of a touch to the tell-tale square of bandage on Rodney's chest as he passes. Looks up at Rodney as if to ask if this is what he wants - as though Rodney is going to say anything other than yes, and yes again.

A squeeze of John's shoulder, and he takes that as encouragement – he's smart, Rodney likes that – and John heads down further, where Rodney's cock is straining up to meet him.

No tease, and Rodney's glad, because he hasn't got time for teasing, not this time. Just John's hot mouth doing even better things to him, swallowing him. Nothing fancy, just hot and wet and John's hand reaching behind and holding his balls like they're his favorite new toy.

Rodney's arching, head back and any other time it might hurt, banging his head like this, but he doesn't care because his orgasm is rolling in on him like the sea surging in a storm over Atlantis. It's relentless and he's powerless to slow it down.

Tries not to thrust for his last seconds, but fails, and John chokes a fraction before he's swallowing.

Looks up at Rodney, and naked want, still there. Rodney's stomach flips at the sight. He wonders if he looks as open – he hopes he does because John deserves to know how Rodney feels about him, and words aren't going to convey it, ever. There are half a million words in the English language, and that's excluding scientific terms, and Rodney knows a lot of them, but he still doesn't have the right ones for this. So non-verbals will have to suffice: looks and touch, and tugging John back up the bed so that Rodney can lick the trace of come from the side of his mouth.

Rolls them over, so he's heavy on top of John. He could sleep now, right here, but John's still aching against him, and Rodney wants to give.

He finds John's hand and pulls sticky fingers into his mouth, watches John watching him, sliding them in, then out with a noisy pop. Tastes himself, and John underneath, and that's good, but most of all he loves the feel of John inside his mouth. Closes his eyes for a moment as he thinks of more, John's cock in his ass, filling him up, pounding into him, and that's enough to provoke a reaction from his spent cock, a faint jerk to let him know his body's in full agreement, even if he's not up to it today.

He lifts himself up to one side, lying on his unhurt side, licks his hand and reaches down, skims along John's flat belly and the boniness of obliques until his fingers tangle in wiry hair. John's cock is a good fit in his hand, long and less thick than Rodney's, as eager for the touch as Rodney is to hold him. Rodney can't think of a better way to remember he's alive than feeling the life in John, feeling the blood pulsing just under the surface of his cock.

He's riding a Serpentine curve again, rollercoasting his way along a route where the falls are exciting and dangerous and the inclines, wow, the inclines are amazing, watching the apex come into sight, feeling the speed increasing until that moment when nothing in the world can stop you.

Greedy hands are grabbing his ass and pulling them closer; he wedges his knee against John's leg because he wants to be closer - yes, skin to skin - but he wants to bring John off first, see him come. For Rodney.

John's breathing is harsh now, and Rodney's panting is repeating the rhythm of his hand. Nearly there, the rhythm says, nearly there.

John's breath catches, and that's it. He's spilling warmth over Rodney's hand and his own belly and his body is limp and blissful.

And now, finally, Rodney can be as close as they both want, and it doesn't matter that John's shoulder is too bony to be a good pillow, this is perfect. This makes everything he's been through, ever, worthwhile.

He sleeps for a while, they probably both do, because the last few weeks have been tough on both of them, and sleep hasn't been easy. Rodney knows that for a fact in himself – he hates sleeping in the infirmary - and sees it in the shadows under John's eyes. When Rodney opens his eyes again, the light is the same, but he's slid onto the pillow, hand resting on John's chest, John's arm flung protectively across him.

He doesn't move, still spent, just idly fingers John's chest hair.

"Good thing I know Morse code, huh." John's tone isn't smug; it's almost scared, as though the possibilities pain him too.

"Yeah." It is. He might be dead if John didn't understand Morse code, and the thought makes him shiver.

John's hand tightens on his shoulder, and the shiver subsides in the warmth.

"Don't ever do that to me again."

"Do what?"

"Get killed. You were dead, you know, and I really don't want you doing that again.

"Yes, because I got myself mostly-killed just to be a pain in your ass. As though I couldn't think of a million better ways to be a pain in the ass, none of which involve, oh, I don't know, say, DYING!" Rodney's rant might have more force to it if it weren't muffled by John's arm.

"So is that a promise?"

"That I'll be a pain in your ass?" Rodney smirks suggestively. "You bet."

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [SV/SGA Flash Fiction challenge](http://www.livejournal.com/users/svmadelyn/289473.html), prompt: John/Rodney and/or Ronon/Teyla, with a smart John who wins at life. *blinks* Well, I didn't _totally_ fail at the prompt...


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